Her bed was in front of the window. It was not a large apartment, one room with a kitchenette on one side, a shower in the corner, and the toilet outside in the stairwell. She talked about love, and about how it doesn’t really matter to people in Paris. People just play the game, pretend it’s about romance because it’s Paris, but really it’s just sex, always sex. “Anyway I’m guilty too, I do the same thing” she said before we kissed. Naked she was lovely. Soft, smooth, translucent skin, a full bush of pale reddish pubic hair, big full breasts with big pink nipples, and a firm round arse with dimples above, on her lower back. She wanted it from behind, on the bed in front of the window. The curtains were open and it was a bright but cloudy day. I could see down into the street seven storeys below. It was a pleasurable afternoon. And I said the wrong thing as I left, or maybe it was the right thing, I wasn’t thinking clearly and I don’t remember what I said. I saw her again, but the game was complete.